


this is what life looks like

by royaltyjunk



Series: the voice of the wind [1]
Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, a ton of self-projecting, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: Life looks like many things. Akihiko, Mitsuru, and everything afterwards.





	this is what life looks like

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Ideas: Wrote this while on a road trip with my festering emotions so this is the closest thing to vent fic you’ll ever get from me I guess

Mitsuru went to America for college. Akihiko stayed in Port Island and attended the local college. Last she heard, he’d somehow managed to convince the administration to let him stay at the Iwatodai Dorm, even though Mitsuru had specifically told them not to let him stay there. The noise complaints that started to come in from nearby dorms only helped to prove her point.

”Mitsuru,” her roommate called. She started.

“What is it?” she questioned before covering her mouth with her hand. _”My apologies. It is a habit.”_

 _”Of course it is,”_ Sophia chuckled. _”You weren’t responding to my questions or your English name, so I had to employ the Japanese.”_ She looked rather proud of herself. Mitsuru laughed. Sometimes, Mitsuru forgot that she even had a given English name.

Sometimes, Mitsuru forgot that she wasn’t in Iwatodai.

_”Anyways, Sam and I are going to Baskin Robbins. You want to come with?”_

_”I—“_ Mitsuru’s phone rang, cutting her off. With a sigh and a hand gesture to her roommate to go ahead without her, she pulled out her phone.

It was twelve thirty-seven Japanese time on a Thursday, and Sanada Akihiko was calling her. She picked up the call as quickly as humanly possible.

“Mitsu—“

“You’d better not be skipping class, Sanada Akihiko.”

“Wh—I am not!” he protested. “I don’t have class this week. We get off a week early for summer break.”

“I see. Is that all you wanted to let me know?”

“No. I wanted to call and let you know that Shinji was discharged this morning.”

“Is Shinjiro staying with you in Iwatodai?”

“…What would you do if I said yes?”

“Nothing. I trust Shinjiro to keep his cool, unlike a certain hot-headed boxer I know.” The strange words fell out of her mouth without even a second thought on her behalf. She wondered if this was what Yukari meant by “flirting”.

“That was uncalled for, Mitsuru,” Akihiko sighed. She practically see the expression on his face—that look of partly insulted and partly amused, with a hint of affection hidden deep in his eyes. It was the kind of expression he saved for her or Shinjiro, the kind of expression that only the best of friends could love.

Love? Chills ran throughout her normally cold-resistant body. She hadn’t thought of love ever since she decided against marrying the fiancé the company had picked out for her. She wondered why it had entered her mind right now.

“How’s America?” he asked, breaking through the silence. “I haven’t heard from you for a while.”

“…We have both been busy,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “It has been… interesting, I suppose.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I have to go. Goodbye.”

“Mitsuru—“

She hung up. She regretted it immediately.

~ / . / . / ~

It took five more calls, scattered across the course of two weeks and at least two of them in the middle of the night, for Akihiko to drag out the emotions she had been swallowing down. At that point she was already so sleep-deprived—struck with anticipation every night as midnight rolled around and kept up to ungodly times by paranoia—that just a question was enough to get her talking.

“I… It has been hard. Many days, I still think I am in Iwatodai. I… I miss everyone. I miss you, Akihiko.” She pursed her lips and pushed back the long-living thought that yelled at her to put her vulnerabilities away, to lock them in a bottle and throw them into the ocean that was her soul.

“I miss you too,” he murmured after a second. “It’s been hard. One of my best friends is hospitalized and barely around, while the other is halfway across the world.”

“You’re free on Sunday mornings, aren’t you?” Mitsuru blurted out.

She heard him pause and could practically see him standing there in the middle of the dorm, blinking in confusion. “Yeah…?”

“Then I will call you on Sunday mornings. Japanese time, of course.”

He chuckled and took a deep breath. “I look forward to it, Mitsuru.” His voice wavered a little.

“Crybaby,” Mitsuru heard Shinjiro call out from the background.

“Are you crying?” she asked, at the same time Akihiko responded, “Asshole!” He sputtered for a moment, and in the momentary silence that followed she knew he was shaking his head before he realized she couldn’t exactly see him. “No, I’m not!’

“Somehow, I do not believe that,” she responded, a smug smile taking over her lips. The door to her dorm opened, and her roommate peeked her head in. _”I will be right there,”_ Mitsuru said.

“You have to go?” Akihiko asked. He, unlike almost everyone else in the dorm, could understand English rather well.

“Mhm. I will talk to you later, Akihiko.”

“Yeah. Later.” He hung up and she hurried to join Sophia. _”Sorry to keep you waiting.”_

That night, as she went to bed, she realized that she had let midnight pass without expecting anything.

~ / . / . / ~

She was nervous. Kirijo Mitsuru, the unflinching head and empress of the Kirijo Group, was nervous about seeing a boy. A boy who was an old friend, at that. She let out a breath and clutched onto the train ticket taking her from Tokyo International Airport to Port Island Station. She wondered dimly if Minako had felt this way on her first day.

The thought of her passed friend made her heart ache. She tried to swallow it down, but the thought of being so close to home, so close to where it started and where it all ended stopped her efforts and she felt hot tears sting her eyes and she was choking dying crying there was nothing she could do—

“This is the boarding call for the train to Port Island Station in Station A. I repeat, this is the boarding call for the train to Port Island Station in Station A.”

And just like that she was jolted back into reality, back into the world that was real and true and alive. She approached the officer and handed him the ticket, accepting the ticket stub he offered back and stepping onto the train, pulling her suitcase after her.

Shinjiro met her at the station, a lopsided grin on his face. “Aki thinks I’m at the hospital. We’re clear.”

Mitsuru felt a rush of guilt. “I did not take away from your time there, did I?”

“Stop worrying so much.” Shinjiro pulled at his cloak before offering his hand. “Give that here.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She handed off his suitcase. In silence, they made their way back to the dorms.

“I’ll put this up in your room,” he said as he unlocked the dorm room. Koromaru launched himself at Mitsuru, and she let out a gentle laugh. There was a sense of normalcy to it all: coming back to the dorm and Koromaru launching himself at her. She felt a sense of something missing. Somehow, she felt like she knew what—no, more who—it was.

“Come down!” Shinjiro called up the staircase.

“What’s going on?” Akihiko’s voice rang out from above. Shinjiro gestured for him to come down. Akihiko did as his friend said and Mitsuru saw him freeze halfway down the stairs, saw the exact moment his eyes landed on her and his brain short-circuited. For someone with an electric affinity, that seemed to happen quite often.

“Surprise,” Shinjiro said gruffly as he walked past his best friend. Akihiko turned on his heel, about to yell something at Shinjiro, before clearly deciding there were better things to do and rushing down the stairs towards Mitsuru.

“Akihiko, what have I said about reckless behavior? Do not—Akihiko—Sanada Akihiko—!” In the time she had attempted to stop his approach, he had closed the distance between them and had his arms around his waist, lifting her clear off the floor.

The thrum of anxiety that had been running rampant in her veins disappeared. She had been so worried he would find out, that he would ruin his surprise for himself (that he would hate her), but his reaction now was worth more than anything in the world. She felt her heart speed up, not from worry this time, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I am here,” she murmured.

“You’re here,” he echoed in awe. His grip on her tightened. “You’re really here.”

He set her down after a while despite her wishes for this to last forever, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of disappointment when her feet touched the ground. She stared up at him. His shoulders looked broader, and the bandage on his left eyebrow was gone—in its wake was a slim scar. She wondered if his eyes had ever looked so beautiful.

His hand lingered on her arm as he stared back at her. His fingers left a trail of warmth along her forearm, despite the cool leather gloves he wore. Suddenly his breath felt so hot against her face, despite the distance between them.

Footsteps broke them out of the trance they had slipped into, and they jolted apart. Mitsuru berated herself in her head as Shinjiro appeared downstairs and made his way into the kitchen. She couldn’t show vulnerability, she repeated to herself. As the daughter of Kirijo, she could not.

But she was Mitsuru here, not Kirijo. Mitsuru came before Kirijo whenever she was home; whenever he was here.

They sat next to each other during dinner, in their usual seats when everyone came back. Sometimes his elbow would brush hers when he sat back down after getting himself another serving of vegetables because Shinjiro had barked at them all to eat them, and the hairs along her arm would jolt upwards. She wondered if, even after the Dark Hour’s disappearance, he had somehow retained Caesar’s power. Other times, she would touch her knee to his (she refused to say whether it was on purpose or not) and watch out of the corner of her eye as he blushed a pretty pink.

Not long after, she fell asleep on the couch in the lobby. The flight to Japan had exhausted her, not to mention she had close to a seventeen-hour time difference to make up for.

Akihiko was sitting on the couch beside her the next morning. He put down his phone when he noticed she had awakened and offered to make breakfast with her. She brushed her sleep-mussed hair out of her eyes and agreed without a second thought.

His shoulder brushed against hers. He stood behind her, chest against her back and his hands covering hers as he showed her how to properly hold a knife and chop with it. Through it all, she felt alive.

~ / . / . / ~

“I love you,” she whispered to him in the middle of lunch, her recent bout of courage taking over her. He almost choked on his noodles, and Shinjiro glanced up at them questioningly. Mitsuru went back to her bowl of ramen, but she could feel the intensity of Akihiko’s emotions radiating off of him. His hand found hers under the table.

“I love you too. Always have, always will,” he murmured in her ear during her welcome celebration nthat night. Her face flushed bright red and stayed like that for so long, Yukari cautiously asked if she had been drinking.

His hand rested on the small of her back. She swallowed dryly, her bout of courage gone, and shifted. Akihiko removed his hand, a look of worry in his eyes.

“Mitsuru?”

“My apologies,” she whispered. “I…”

“Here,” he whispered, pulling her up by her hand. She glanced at the festivities and slipped out with him, following him out of the door.

His arm came up cautiously to hold her around the shoulders. Slowly, she leaned against him. It was the middle of February, and their breath was still coming out in frosty clouds before their faces. He was still wearing that burgundy scarf she had bought for him during their first year together at the dorm for Christmas, when all she knew about him was that his favorite color was any shade of red and his Persona was called Polydeuces.

He led them into the park, sitting down on a bench. “So,” he began.

“So,” she repeated hollowly.

“…Did I make you uncomfortable?” he murmured after a moment of silence. She shook her head.

“No. It… was my fault.”

“It’s not your **fault** , Mitsuru. Please, stop thinking this is something that should be blamed on someone.”

“Akihiko…”

“Why do you always do that, Mitsuru?”

“Because I…” Hated it. Hated how love made her feel. Hated how he made her feel. Hated how vulnerable she was. Hated how since Minako had died, she had been the leader. Hated how she had to be full of charisma, full of valor, full of everything that Minako was. Hated how she was such a spiteful person to the friend who saved their world.

“…Hate it?” he asked, his hand falling to rest on her back. Did he know her that well?

“I will never be enough,” she whispered bitterly. “Nothing will ever be the same, Akihiko. Not without her here.”

They didn’t need to name a name. They both knew who she was talking about.

“My apologies.” She shook her head and stood up, glancing towards the dorm. “We should go back.”

“Nothing will be the same,” he agreed in a soft voice as they walked out of the park, “but that doesn’t always mean it’s bad.”

The back of his hand brushed hers—a question. She slipped her hand into his.

“I love you, Mitsuru,” he murmured, bringing her hand up to his warm lips.

“I love you too, Akihiko,” she responded softly, brushing her light fingers along his cheek. The smile on his face was enough to make her feel alive again.

~ / . / . / ~

The feeling of soft kisses being placed on her head woke her the next morning. Akihiko’s arms were wrapped around her waist, and she hummed softly when his thumb began to trace small circles on her stomach.

“Morning,” he whispered. The softness in his voice caused unfamiliar jolts of happiness to crawl along her arms.

“Good morning,” she responded, lifting one of her hands from her waist and staring at it before placing a kiss on his calloused palm. She almost never got to see his bare hands—he was always wearing those gloves. They were getting worn. Perhaps she should have another pair custom-made for him. “Have you been awake for long?”

“No.” He shifted away from her, presumably to grab his phone. He settled back against her, turning on his phone and placing it so that both of them could see what was on it. A series of notifications popped up, mainly eight missed calls and sixteen new messages—all from Shinjiro. Akihiko let out a soft wheeze, and Mitsuru laughed.

 **Shinji [11:39 PM]:** won’t be at the dorm tomorrow

 **Shinji [11:39 PM]:** going to be at the hospital

 **Shinji [11:39 PM]:** have a follow-up

 **Shinji [11:40 PM]:** …where the hell are you

 **Shinji [11:40 PM]:** aki?

 **Shinji [11:43 PM]:** aki

 **Shinji [11:45 PM]:** akihiko

 **Shinji [11:45 PM]:** pick up the phone you asshole

 **Shinji [11:47 PM]:** aki what the hell

 **Shinji [11:47 PM]:** we’re literally in the same building and i can’t fuckin find you

 **Shinji [11:47 PM]:** what the fuck

 **Shinji [11:47 PM]:** i saw you come back inside what the fuck

 **Shinji [11:48 PM]:** if you don’t answer i’m calling kirijo

 **Shinji [11:49 PM]:** fine i’m getting her

 **Shinji [11:54 PM]:** you

 **Shinji [11:54 PM]:** fuckin hell

“Did Shinjiro come in here?” she asked. Akihiko turned his phone off and shoved it to the side.

“Dunno. Don’t care.”

“Akihiko,” she scolded, gently pinching his arm.

“Ow.” When she twisted her head to glance at him, though, he was grinning.

“What are you smiling about?” she murmured, twisting onto her side so that she was facing him.

“You,” he responded. She could feel her face heating up. “Not like that. Your hair is a mess.”

“Mm. So it is.” She’d grown used to the treatments necessary for her hair to remain in pristine condition. All of that, however, began when she had at least gotten out of bed. Not when she was in bed with someone she quite liked.

His fingers carded through her hair gently, careful not to pull too harshly at any tangles he encountered. “Mitsuru.”

“Hm?”

“You know that I love you.”

_“Oui.”_

“You know you will always be enough for me, don’t you?”

“Where is this coming from?” she asked after a pause.

“Last night. You said you’d never be enough, and that nothing would ever be the same.”

“You know what I mean.” Mitsuru did not easily forget things she had said.

“You’re always so hard on yourself,” he murmured. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“I must, Akihiko.”

“Don’t.” His hands were firm on her shoulders. “Not here. You came home for a reason.”

She shut her eyes and sighed. “Yes. You’re right.” A moment of silence, bated with breath. _“Merci.”_

 _”Je t’aime,”_ he murmured, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. She opened one eye to stare at him.

“Your pronunciation is still horrible.”

Shinjiro made something resembling a noise of disgust when they came downstairs together, Mitsuru fussing over Akihiko’s collar, but the glimmer of joy and amusement in Shinjiro’s eyes betrayed him.

~ / . / . / ~

“People are staring,” she murmured.

“Let them,” he replied. He would forever remain oblivious to the stares of other girls, it seemed. She couldn’t help but smile.

“This is going to go all over the tabloids.”

“Mm. And?”

“And nothing. If you are not bothered, then I will not be.”

He gave her a dazzling smile and squeezed her hand. Mitsuru could feel the glares of nearby women sharpening tenfold.

“Come. We should go.” She pulled her suitcase and Akihiko along with her. He fell into step beside her, her hand warm in his.

“Do you have to go?” he asked after she purchased her ticket. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he loosened his hand from hers to circle his arm around her waist.

“I’ll be back. I won’t be gone forever.”

“Three years might as well be forever.”

“I promise to come back every chance I get.”

“Then I’ll visit whenever I can.”

“Akihiko, you do not have that kind of money or time.”

“I’ll make it. Money and time.”

“Akihiko…”

“You’re worth it,” he said, glancing down at her. Hot tears sprang up at the corner of her eyes as he brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed it. “I told you. You’re more than enough, Mitsuru.”

“Akihiko, **please**.” She couldn’t start crying now. She hadn’t even made it to the train yet.

“Come on, Mitsuru. You’re going to be late.” Gently, he led her to the train platform and sat down beside her on a nearby bench. She pressed her face against his neck and took a shaky breath. His hand rubbed circles on her back.

“I love you,” she murmured. _”Je t’aime, Akihiko.”_

“You’re more than enough, Mitsuru. Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself.”

And then she was crying, ugly sobs that she would have hated herself for if she was crying on anyone else’s shoulder. But she didn’t hate herself anymore, the first time since Minako’s death, and that thought only made her cry harder and Akihiko hold her tighter; as if he could read her mind and knew what she was thinking of.

“This is the boarding call for the train to Tokyo International Airport in Station C. I repeat, this is the boarding call for the train to Tokyo International Airport in Station C.”

Mitsuru pulled away, and Akihiko ran a reassuring hand along her arm.

“I’ll be waiting here,” he promised, “next time. Actually tell me, next time.”

That elicited a soft laugh from Mitsuru. “I will.” She wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks and smiled. He kissed her gently. “I will,” she repeated.

He nodded. She stood hesitantly, placed a hand on her suitcase, and boarded the train.

When it lurched forward, she dared to turn her head out, looking through the window at the platform. He was standing there, holding his jacket over his shoulder like they were back in high school and fighting to save the world. She raised a hand and waved. He smiled (he was _radiant_ , she thought, the picture-perfect definition of _beau_ ) and waved back.

Life looked beautiful.


End file.
